


One Day the Sadness Will End (Part 1)

by Amatara



Series: Albert Appreciation Day [1]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alcohol, Bonding, Domestic, Fluff, Food, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Star Trek References, office gossip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amatara/pseuds/Amatara
Summary: A collection of prompt fills written for Albert Appreciation Day on tumblr, where we celebrated the character of Albert Rosenfield to comfort ourselves after losing actor Miguel Ferrer. Mostly fluff, with a sprinkling of angst. This one is Albert + characters other than Dale, the Dale/Albert ones arehere.





	1. Albert, Dale and Harry (for haroldwrens)

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are unbeta'd and still a bit rough around the edges, but I wanted to keep them as they were when I first posted them (for emotional reasons, 'cause I'm sentimental that way). Hope you enjoy. <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Albert, Coop, and Harry watching Star Trek reruns together.

“Whoa, whoa… wait.” Harry froze halfway in raising a bite of popcorn to his mouth, leaning forward to blink at the TV screen. “Spock is _smiling_? What about that whole Vulcan non-emotion thing? I thought…”

“… Vulcans don’t have emotions?” Albert reached across Cooper for the popcorn bowl. “Think again.”

The confusion on Harry’s face was actually endearing; enough for Albert to almost forgive him for confessing he’d never liked Star Trek as a kid. Watching tonight’s reruns had been Cooper’s idea; not that Albert was ever going to turn down a proposal like that. Harry had just tagged along for the company, and any resentment Albert might have harbored towards his presence had melted away at the man’s dogged attempts to understand.

“What Albert means,” Cooper explained patiently, “Is that Spock does have emotions. He just represses them, because he’s vowed never to let them betray him. Which means he’s often perceived as unfeeling or cold. Am I right, Albert?”

Albert took a gulp from his beer and shrugged. “Close enough.”

Harry was still frowning, but the proverbial light bulb seemed to be materializing above his head. “Right. I think I get it now.” He jabbed a finger in Albert’s direction. The couple of beers he’d had so far were manifesting as broad gestures and warm, loopy smiles. “So Spock is _you_ , right?” he asked Albert, triumphantly. Then, nodding at Cooper, “And you’re… Captain Kirk?”

Cooper sucked down a breath that was two-thirds amusement, one-third something else. “Actually, Albert and I have discussed this, and come to the conclusion…”

“Nice try, Harry,” Albert cut Cooper off. “Long story short: if it’s analogies you’re after, then he’s Spock and I’m McCoy. And if you’re looking for a Kirk, just look in a mirror. Rookie mistake. Keep it up and you’ll learn.”

The look on Harry’s face was both amused and deeply skeptical. “Nah. _You_ ’re Spock?” He grinned at Cooper. “You two are pulling my leg, right? Spock is a walking mystery, constantly guarding himself. Don’t tell me I read the character _that_ wrong.”

“You didn’t,” Albert said, taking a perverse pleasure in the way Harry’s flush deepened as he tried, unsuccessfully, to grasp the connection. Albert had no intention to enlighten him. If Harry was half the friend he wanted to be, he’d figure out Cooper’s true colors soon enough. “Now,” he went on, smoothly. “Wanna know why Spock smiled when he saw he hadn’t killed Kirk after all?”

“Well, that’s easy, isn’t it? He smiled because he and Kirk…” Harry’s brow puckered. “Wait. Why did you say I was Kirk again? Kirk and Spock, they’re not…?” 

The tenderness on Cooper’s face was a thing of beauty. “Harry, my friend… just keep watching. You’re in for a treat.”

 

*


	2. Albert and Diane (for carletoncolton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Albert and Diane, fluff, pre-Valentine’s Day office gossip.

“There you are! So, what are your plans for tomorrow?“ Albert’s heading for the coffee maker, his mind on the latest John Doe on his slab, when hurried footsteps come up behind him and an arm is hooked through his. By the time he’s recovered enough to mount a defense, his assailant has already solidified her grip and steered him into the nearest briefing room.

He glares down into the face of Diane, which is a study in amusement. “Tomorrow?” he mutters. “Work, what else?” This whole week has been an organizational nightmare: old cases dropped into his lap without warning and new ones seeming to materialize out of thin air. Albert’s already pulled a couple of all-nighters; he’s not counting on tomorrow to be magically better.

“Come on. Don’t tell me you forgot?” He blinks when Diane starts digging through her purse, then dramatically pulls out a card. It proclaims, in florid red script: _‘Will you be my Valentine?’_

“I…” Albert shakes his head, struck dumb for a couple of moments. Diane knows his type, doesn’t she, and that there’s a rock-solid reason why it doesn’t, and never will, include her? So there’s no way she could mean…  

The sound of Diane’s laughter ricochets off the walls. “Silly man,” she snorts, more affectionate than mocking. “This isn’t for you, it’s for Gordon. He’s been flirting with that agent from the DEA for months. And I’m pretty sure she’s interested, so figured I’d… you know, give them a little push in the spirit of collegiality.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Faking handwriting is a specialty of mine. In case you ever need a favor.”

Albert struggles to wipe the smirk off of his face. “Gordon? You sure? I hadn’t seen him as the type to…”

“Dabble? Flirt? Fall in love?” Diane purses her lips. “Trust me. I’ve got a nose for these things. Speaking of which…” She reaches for his arm and pats it gently. “I’m told that Dale doesn’t have a date yet.”

“Dale Cooper?” Albert feels like an idiot the moment he says it, because of course there’s only one Dale they both know. And Diane does, in fact, have a nose for these things, as she’s proving even now. “Can’t be for lack of opportunities, can it?” he grumbles. “I can think of half a dozen women in our department alone who’d love to get their hands on the guy. Could you blame them for trying?”

“No. Could _you_?”

“I… _No_ ,” Albert says, hurrying to sound affronted, but the second or so between the question and his answer might already have betrayed him. “Why should I?”

Diane flashes him a far-too-knowing grin, then stands on her tiptoes to straighten his tie. “Want my opinion?” she whispers. “I think he’s just waiting for the right person to come around.”

By the time Albert realizes she hasn’t said ‘the right woman’, she’s already turned on her heels and left.

 

*


	3. Albert and Hawk (for amotleycrew)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Albert and Hawk, fluff/humor, bonding about the Amount Of Suffering (Lovable) Fools They Must Do.

“So tell me.” Albert takes a long drink of his whisky, savoring the kick when it hits his throat. “How many times have you pulled his ass out of the fire?”

Across the table from him, Deputy Hawk doesn’t seem to need clarification. Then again, Hawk knows what it’s like to play second fiddle to a man who’s taken to carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Or, if not the world, as in Cooper’s case, then at least that of a smallish town.

Hawk shrugs, carefully nursing his own drink, but there’s a gleam in his eyes Albert recognizes as humor, even if he isn’t sure how he knows. In most ways, the two of them are nothing alike, but he still feels an odd kind of kinship with the man. It might have something to do with his taste in drinks: turns out Hawk agrees bourbon can’t hold a candle to Scotch, which is as good a thing as any to start bonding over. Not that Albert is particularly eager to bond, but seeing as Cooper insisted on dragging him along to the Bookhouse, it’s not that there’s something more useful to do with his time.

“Harry’s a good man.” Hawk dangles the words in front of him like a challenge, as if the conversation stops here unless they agree on that first.

“Sure,” Albert says, no sarcasm in his tone for once. “He’s a good man, and Cooper’s a good man, and if there’s one thing I learned it’s that good men don’t give a crap about keeping their own asses covered. Hence my question: how often did you have to cover it for him?”

“You think I’m keeping count?” Hawk swirls his drink around in his glass. “I might have kept count, at that, but it’d be impossible. Keeping Harry in check is like trying to tame a wild eagle. You could do it, but you’d have to cage him first.” Long pause. “Just last month, there was a brawl at the Roadhouse. We know the place draws a trigger-happy crowd, but Harry just jumped right in there. We pulled him out with a cracked rib and two black eyes, but he never threw a punch himself, and they did stop fighting.” He looked Albert square in the eye. “He didn’t need me to save his ass back then, but I sure as hell wanted to.”

Albert winced in sympathy. “Damn idiots. Think they can save the world with kid gloves. That kindness begets kindness. Thing is, working with Cooper, you almost start to believe it’s true - right up until he gets himself into such deep shit you barely manage to drag him out. Sometimes I think I want to punch him, if I wasn’t so tempted to…”

“… kiss him instead?” It came out so dryly that Albert almost managed to let it pass. Then he made the mistake of meeting Hawk’s eyes, and saw that he’d just been read like a book. “Don’t worry, Agent Rosenfield. Secrets are our business here.” Hawk slowly touched his nose, then reached to pour him another drink. “Yours is safe with me.”

 

*


	4. Albert and Lucy (for sanguinarysanguinity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Albert and Lucy, unexpected competence.

“Agent Cooper? Are you… _Oh._ ” The door to the conference room slams open before Albert can protest, which is all the more galling because he really, _really_ can’t spare breath for it right now. The shock of blond curls entering his field of vision stops its approach at the sight of him, and for a second he isn’t sure if the ‘oh’ is triggered by the lack of Cooper or the fact Albert is currently on his ass on the floor.

Out of all the people who might have seen him, Lucy Moran isn’t at the top of his list… but she’s hardly at the bottom either. And the sound of nervous footsteps tells him that at least she hasn’t turned and run.

“Doctor Rosenfield?” Oh, so he’s earned the ‘doctor’ now, hasn’t he? That, or to Lucy there’s just one agent who counts, and it definitely isn’t Albert. “Sheriff Truman said Agent Cooper went to the meeting room, though maybe he meant the small meeting room, not the large one, but then why are you here sitting on the floor, and _holy smokes Doctor Rosenfield are you all right_?”

It takes Albert a second or two to parse the whole litany, then another five before he risks talking back. “Depends,” he rasps, weakly. “Did you bring more donuts? In that case, no, I’m not all right.” And where the hell is Cooper when you need him? Probably off chasing ducks or communing with spirits, and of course, of fucking _course_ , the first half-hour Albert is alone in this burg is when he’s hit by the first asthma attack he’s had in years… and, to top it off, he didn’t even see it coming. He closes his eyes, tries to keep his breath from wheezing. Must be the goddamn trees, for sure.

He isn’t sure what he was expecting from Lucy. Panic, maybe, or at least another string of ramblings that wouldn’t get him anywhere at all. Instead, Lucy’s heels tap the floor and then a hand grips his shoulder, shaking him until he opens his eyes.

“Doctor Rosenfield?” The voice is shrill as always, but not panicky at all. His first thought is she probably doesn’t even know what’s to panic about - until she says, voice utterly steady: “Don’t worry, sweetie. My nephew also has asthma, I know what to do.”

It takes her about fifteen seconds to prop him up against the wall, then cover him with some mysteriously acquired blanket. Next is a laundry list of questions: has he had attacks before (yes), recent ones (no), is he carrying an inhaler (no, because he’s an idiot, clearly), can he sit up straighter and breathe more slowly and should she call doctor Hayward, even though Albert’s a doctor too? At one point, Andy comes knocking but she shoos him off, and by the time Truman and Cooper’s voices come echoing down the corridor, Albert’s in a chair, still slightly breathless, but feeling almost like a functioning person again.

If anyone notices something’s off, they don’t ask him, which is a good thing because he wouldn’t know what to say. It’s only when Lucy ducks out of the room that it hits him: never, in all the time she was with him just now, did it occur to him not to trust her. The woman’s got a gift for sure - and from the small, triumphant smile she throws him across her shoulder, he’s sure she knows exactly how much of one.

 

*


	5. Albert and Harry (for altairattorney)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Albert and Harry, coffee break: “this tastes better than I thought.”

Harry joined him in the conference room which, true to form and to Albert’s overwhelming lack of surprise, looked more like a roadside buffet than as part of a functional Sheriff’s office.

His first few times in Twin Peaks, Albert had just rolled his eyes and laughed in the face of the whole business. Later, he’d moved on to ignoring it, the way you’d ignore the vaguely embarrassing hobby of a friend. This time, though, Albert found himself strangely drawn to the display, up to and including the gleam that appeared in Harry’s eyes at the sight.

“Oh, yeah… Lucy’s done it again.” Harry circled the table, hands in his pockets and a grin of pure bliss on his face. The impulse to quash that grin with a jeer was still deeply ingrained, but Albert forced himself to trail along in Harry’s wake, letting his own gaze rove across the assorted piles of sweets. He couldn’t help it; the only thing Lucy’s handiwork instilled in him was a case of preemptive indigestion.  

“What’s this?” Albert asked, pointing at a lone pie that had dutifully been labeled as ‘huckleberry’. He knew what those were, of course. They grew in specific locations; he’d even used them to pin down a murder scene or two, but it was as good a conversation starter as any.

“That? That’s Norma’s huckleberry pie. Coop swears by it. Don’t tell me he never got you to taste any?”

“Hell, no,” Albert scoffed. “Though not for lack of trying. I just… I don’t like pie, that’s all.”

Harry’s bark of laughter didn’t have a scrap of mockery behind it. “You got me stumped now, Albert. How can you work with someone like Cooper and not end up turning into a pie adept?”

Albert shrugged. “By being at least as stubborn as he is? Not that that’s ever stopped him. He called me _three_ times, the day he drove into Twin Peaks. Once in relation to the case, the other two to wax poetic about the spoils of some roadside bakery.”

“I stand corrected, Albert.” Harry bent over the table to examine a batch of chocolate chip cookies. “I used to think you had no talent for dealing with people at all. I still think you don’t, but it takes a special kind of patience to handle Coop, right?“ He straightened and clapped Albert’s shoulder. “So where do you stand on chocolate? I can personally vouch for those cookies. Lucy bakes them herself.”

Albert almost asked how that was an endorsement, but then he’d be unfair as well as petty: compared to some slackers he knew back home, Lucy Moran was capable enough. Maybe it was just guilt over his baser instincts, but Albert picked up a cookie and nibbled on it sparingly. It wasn’t half bad. “Call me crazy, but this tastes better than I thought.”

“Crazy? Nah.” Harry’s expression was warmly teasing, in a way Albert doubted had less to do with him praising Lucy’s cooking than it did with Coop’s manner rubbing off on the man. God help him if he had to babysit _two_ sentimental fools from now on. “I’ll tell you what’s happening, Albert: you’re growing soft.”

“Don’t count on it,” Albert said, and obtrusively nicked another cookie. Forged in the fire of Dale Bartholomew Cooper, it took a damn furnace to make a person grow soft. That Harry Truman’s heart might just _be_ a furnace was something Albert would rather not tell the big lug out loud.

 

*


End file.
